


Touch

by mea_culpa



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, a lot of Harry thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:23:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mea_culpa/pseuds/mea_culpa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So he was ok with the touching he received and even the ones he reciprocated. He actually kind of liked it. No, the touching he could now accept but what he was finding hard to grasp was that he was starting to crave it. At least, he was starting to crave it from Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first 1D fiction I ever wrote so please be forgiving ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Just going to put it out there that unfortunately I do not own them and this never happened.

 

If Harry was being honest, he could admit that the touching used to bother him. He was taught from the belief system that men touched women and women touched men, full stop. The end. The actual idea of men touching men was introduced to him in secondary school, as he sat on the unused tennis court with his motley crew of friends. Matt told them about when he had walked in on his brother making out with his supposed best friend, who subsequently ‘came out’. This of course lead Harry to believe that men who liked to touch men, were gay. So you can imagine the thoughts that swirled through his head when he first felt Louis sling his arm across his shoulder.

He’d had close friends growing up but not once does he remember them ever touching. Not even a hand shake. What he does remember was being touched by girls, a lot of girls, in a variety of ways on a dizzyingly frequent basis - and he liked it. He had never felt the need to touch another man.

It was then only natural for him to wonder if his new band mate played for the other team, so to speak, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He had actually asked Louis once, which led to a full month of teasing, predominantly by the older lad cocking a wrist, swinging his hips and calling Harry sweetie and darling in a high pitched voice whenever he saw him. Needless to say he never asked again. But he did still wonder, especially when Louis’s touching seemed to spread throughout the group.

First it was nonchalant arm holds, which Harry got used to the more he was asked for group pictures, that morphed into occasional hand holding, thigh slapping and then shockingly – for him at least – kissing. Only on the cheek, or the occasional forehead, but still.

If his friends knew he hadn’t liked them touching him they never showed their awareness and they certainly didn’t stop. Zayn still gripped his shoulder as they talked, Niall still collapsed into his lap, usually when he was tired, Liam still hugged him, strong firm hands resting tightly on his waist and Louis, well there were very few ways that Louis didn’t touch him.

Strangely, Harry got used to it all. He stopped noticing the press of lips to his face and the constant feeling of someone else pressed against him in one way or another. Instead he took comfort in it, they all did. It separated them from the world outside the group. It made them family. They supported each other in ways that nobody else could because they were the only ones that fully understood what life was like for them. They were the only ones that understood the ups and downs and highs and lows of doing what they did. They could moan without feeling guilty and smile without explanation.

So he was ok with the touching he received and even the ones he reciprocated. He actually kind of liked it. No, the touching he could now accept but what he was finding hard to grasp was that he was starting to crave it. At least he was starting to crave it from Louis.

There was something about the way the older boy pressed a hand against his chest as he whispered in his ear, or the way he burrowed his head into Harry’s neck when he made him laugh. He missed the small touches to his fingertips at the base of his spine when they weren’t there and he craved the feel of Louis’s breath against his cheek.

And he isn’t sure what all that means.

If he went with what he was taught growing up he would naturally assume he was gay. Normal men don’t crave the touch of another man, yet he didn’t particularly feel gay. He didn’t look at all men in a new light, he didn’t want to touch or be touched by them. Just his bandmates. But mostly Louis.

“Harry come on!” He was dragged from his thoughts by smooth fingers slipping between his own and when he looked up to meet the bright blue eyes of his friend he came a little undone inside. It was becoming unbearable to not do more. To not pull Louis closer and touch with abandon, to forget everything for just a few minutes and feel. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be the one to take the touches further. They did it for comfort, support, nothing else. Instead he followed Louis past the excited crowd and into the club.

Harry used to enjoy drinking. He enjoyed going out and dancing with nubile girls that promised him more. He enjoyed the freedom of letting loose and taking them home to sow his youthful oats. But that was before. Now he liked the ride home after. He liked the way Louis’s eyes were slightly unfocused and his cheeks were flushed. He liked the way his sweaty hair was a messy mop of unruly strands that Harry was allowed to run his fingers through. Mostly he liked the drunken kiss Louis would place against the corner of his mouth when saying goodnight.

What he didn’t like was the want. He wanted more and it scared the hell out of him. He was scared of what it meant, that he wasn’t who he thought he was. He had to stop thinking. He had to stop wanting.

A solution came to him as he stood at the bar. Whilst waiting to get a drink, a large weight pushed into his side. He knew immediately it wasn’t one of the guys and that the pressure was accidental, however he still turned in reaction. It wasn’t the man himself that caught Harry’s attention but what he was shouting into his friend’s ear. And as the burly man explained how his friend had quit drinking ‘cold turkey’ the idea was like a splash of ice water to his nerves. It occurred to Harry that that might be just what he needed. Maybe he had to quit touching Louis, maybe then he could stop the ache that was forming in his chest and taking root.

Making the decision left him feeling powerful, he was taking back the control he had unwillingly lost and maybe, just maybe, he could kick the addiction before he was lost to it.

 

He will always remember the look on Louis’s face the first time he realised that Harry was moving away from his touch on purpose. There had been times before that, just small things that kept them apart, such as sitting with one of the guys between them or conveniently bending to tie his shoelace. But the first time that it all seemed to click into place for his older friend was etched onto the back of Harry’s eyelids, so much so that every time he so much as blinked Harry saw the pain and confusion dominate Louis’s devastating features.

More than once he wished he could explain why it was he had to step back, why he couldn’t touch Louis and Louis couldn’t touch him. If he could have found the words he would have said them, unfortunately they evaded him at every turn and that meant that they were both left in the dark.

It changed things, the no touching, it was almost as if he had cut a thread that had bound them together. Their friendship became hesitant and Harry had to live with the fact that he had sacrificed it to fix himself. Which was probably one of the most selfish things he had ever done and it hadn’t even made him feel better.

Weeks had passed and nothing inside him had changed. He still felt the craving, only worse, and with it came a mix of jealousy and guilt. Louis spent more time with the other guys, touching them, and Harry’s chest felt heavy every time contact was made with someone other than him. He had been wrong to withdraw and that left him with only one other option. To press forward. To embrace the touch and be honest with them both. He just didn’t know if he could put himself out there like that. And he still wasn’t sure exactly what it all meant.

Did it mean he was gay? He still didn’t think so. Louis was the only man he was interested in and even then he wasn’t sure if it went beyond their close friendship, although he had been drawn to his friend’s lips of late. They mocked him with their plump pink wetness and sometimes late at night he imagined that instead of the kisses Louis left at the corner of his mouth, he would instead press it into the centre. He imagined how long they would linger and how they would taste and he wasn’t naïve, he knew he wouldn’t think like that if Louis were just a friend. But still.

Harry had a choice to make and without consulting with his inner self he made it on the way back to the tour bus after their last show in London. He was the last to leave and trailed slowly behind his bandmates. Liam, Niall and Zayn were pushing each other happily as they climbed the metal steps but Louis didn’t join in. Which in and of itself made Harry feel worse. His friend hadn’t been the same since his rejection and that was all on him.

“Louis! Hey wait up!” Harry jogged the few steps to catch up and placed his hand on his bandmate’s shoulder before he had the chance to enter the bus, thus losing this small window of opportunity.

Louis paused as he touched him and his eyes travelled along Harry’s arm and up to his face, question weighted heavily in his stare. Harry inhaled a shaky breath and attempted to remove his hand only to find it being held in place by Louis’s own.

They stood in silence a moment, not because Harry didn’t know what to say – because he did, suddenly it was all sitting on the tip of his tongue – but because he was mesmerised by the feel of their skin touching, soaking each other in. If he hadn’t known better Harry would have thought he had touched a bare naked flame, that would have at least accounted for the white heat that spread against his fingers, but instead he knew it meant the time had come.

“I’m sorry.” His voice caught and made the apology so much more raw. The words were like a beaver chipping at a dam and before he knew what he was doing he had stepped closer and wound his arms around Louis’s neck, pulling him in until their chests were flush and their hearts beat in turn. Louis grasped the younger man tightly and let their breaths infuse into each other and steady before he spoke.

“I don’t get it Haz, what happened?” Harry shook his thick head of heat soaked curls and burrowed his face into Louis’s neck, seeking the comfort he had missed.

“It scared me, the touching, I didn’t know.. it felt… I’m sorry!” There was much more he wanted to say but it was caught in his throat and he knew that even if he freed the words they could never explain how sorry he was or how much he felt for his friend.

Harry was pushed back a step, just enough so that they were standing face to face and sorry green met forgiving blue.

“It’s alright. I get it. Just don’t do that again, ok? Talk to me before pushing me away.”

“I just don’t understand how you make me feel.” Harry witnessed the smile that spread across Louis’s features and it quickly replaced the previous image his lids had held hostage. This was better. This was how it was supposed to be. Louis should be smiling. Harry should feel weightless. They should be touching.

“That’s ok Harry. We have time to figure it out.”

They stared at each other a while before Louis laughed and pulled the younger man towards him. Harry smiled, brighter than he had for weeks and on whim, a beautiful, fearless, screw it all whim, dipped his head forward to place a soft kiss at the corner of Louis’s lips. Who moved them swiftly at the last minute until they pressed together fully, slightly parted and tasting like promise.


End file.
